


Swing low, sweet chariot

by demodocus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20, Fix-It, Gen, POV Sam Winchester, Spoilers for Carry On, Supernatural (TV) Spoilers, kind of, this is basically therapy for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demodocus/pseuds/demodocus
Summary: Sam isn't so fond of this ending. But nothing ever really ends, does it?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Swing low, sweet chariot

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, I should be working on Hell Bound, but I was lying awake in bed after watching the finale and this just came to me, begging to be written. I'll get back to that soon, I swear! But as I'm sure a lot of you can relate to, I had a lot of mixed feelings about the finale, and I guess this is my way of making my peace with it. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: this isn't really a fix-it so much as a... different view of the finale. Just trying to fill in a few blanks :)

///

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Coming for to carry me home_

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Coming for to carry me home_

///

The novelty of being “finally free” never seemed to truly wear off for Dean, but it did fade a little. Sam could tell that the loss of Jack and Cas (especially Cas) had hit Dean just as hard as it had hit Sam, maybe even harder, but his brother seemed determined to honor their sacrifices by living life to the fullest. 

For Dean, this meant doing what they always did: the family business. And Sam realized he was just as content with hunting, fighting by his brother’s side and saving lives. They had control over their own lives, and they were using that to do good work. Hell, they even took some personal time every once in a while, enjoying the small things in life. And for eight short months, things were good. 

Then they ran into some vampires in Canton, and everything changed.

Sam had held his dying brother in his arms, had told him it was okay to let go. That Sam would be okay if he let go. And Dean finally closed his eyes to rest. 

It wasn’t long after Dean’s pyre that Sam was faced with revealing his brother’s death to people who’d known him, who’d loved him. And god, it was so hard because Dean was — or had been — just so impossible not to love. 

Sam had just gotten back from those werewolves in Austin, and Miracle was running enthusiastically towards the kitchen. Sam felt a pit open up in his stomach when he realized the dog was probably hoping he’d find Dean there with a beer and some leftover scraps, and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep himself from scanning the war room for his big brother. 

Then his phone rang, and Sam inhaled sharply as he checked the number.

Jody.

Part of him wanted to ignore her, hang up, chuck the phone against the wall. But the bigger, more responsible part of him knew that part of his promise to Dean — his promise that everything would be okay, that _he_ would be okay — was living. And living didn’t just mean hunting.

Sam took a slower, deeper breath, and answered the phone.

_“Sam?”_

Sam felt his lips twitch a little, but smiling was still too painful, and he roughly scrubbed at his eyes. “Hey, Jody.”

_“Sam, where’s Dean? I tried calling him, but he’s not answering his phone.”_

Sam took a deep breath, and turned away from the war room to face the dusty, brick-layered wall behind him. “Jody… there’s, uh, there’s something I have to tell you,” he managed.

///

_I looked over Jordan and what did I see_

_Coming for to carry me home_

_A band of angels coming after me_

_Coming for to carry me home_

///

It wasn’t long before a memorial of sorts had been organized for Dean, and Sam found himself at Jody’s house among the few close friends they’d had, mourning the loss of the best man they’d known.

No one was able to say much. They mostly sat quietly together, shedding tears and exchanging the occasional hug or condolence. 

Sam didn’t cry, didn’t really speak. He’d long since run out of tears and words. 

Donna was regaling the others with a story of some hunt she’d gone on with Dean, speaking quietly as though trying not to disturb the heavy blanket of sorrow and grief that had settled over the room. Or maybe just trying not to disturb Sam, who hadn’t really looked up or moved in what felt like hours. But Sam was far too distracted by the warmth he suddenly felt in his chest, in his heart. It felt familiar. It felt like… family. 

Sam stood up, ignoring the inquiries of the others. He made his way out onto the porch, not bothering to shield himself from the bite of the South Dakotan winter, and wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see the figure of a young man standing innocently in the snow. 

Jack smiled sadly at him, raising a hand. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam stepped out onto the white covered lawn, letting the tears gather again in his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t run out after all. “Why didn’t you save him, Jack?”

Jack lowered his hand slowly, expression becoming solemn. “I could not interfere. It’s not my story. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“We had only just become free,” Sam whispered, the tears breaking free to trail down his face. “For the first time in his life he was free, and he didn’t even—” Sam’s voice broke, and he looked away.

That sad smile was back, and Jack stepped forward to place his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It was enough for him. You know that.” 

Sam looked back, barely able to push the words out past the lump in his throat. “What if it wasn’t enough for me?”

“It will be, Sam. I promise, it will be.” And Jack turned as though to walk away.

“Wait,” Sam grabbed his shoulder, and Jack cocked his head at him. Sam fumbled for words for a moment, before finally saying, “Just tell me. Did he… is he in heaven? Is he—is he happy?”

Jack smiled again, a real, full smile. “He’s waiting for you,” he said. “But live for him first, okay?” 

And then he was gone. 

Sam let his hand hang in empty air for a moment, before dropping to his knees in the snow. He began to sob, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop.

///

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Coming for to carry me home_

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Coming for to carry me home_

///

Sam still hunted, at least for a while. It felt right, doing what Dean would have done if he were there with him. It felt good to save people, but it still wasn’t easy.

Jody had joined him for a hunt, and as they were sitting back with a couple of beers after a job well done, she asked him how he was doing.

Sam swallowed roughly. “It still hurts, you know?”

Jody nodded jerkily, and Sam could see the grief for his brother in her own eyes just as surely as she could see it in his. “Yeah, I miss him too.”

“He was…” Sam started, but he didn’t know how to sum up everything Dean had meant to him, so he just said, “He was my brother.” And that felt like enough.

He talked about Dean more after that. It was never much, because it still hurt so goddamn bad, but Dean would’ve wanted his life to be celebrated, spoken about, remembered. So Sam talked. And maybe it eventually made things just a little bit easier. 

When Miracle died Sam cried and cried, like he hadn’t in years, because it felt like the last piece he’d had of Dean had withered away. He hunted with Eileen more after that, both because he knew it was dangerous for him to be hunting alone and, in truth, because he’d missed her, even in his mourning for his brother. 

A few years had gone by since Dean’s passing, and Sam finally let what was between him and Eileen grow. They slowly stopped hunting, taking fewer and fewer jobs until they weren’t taking any at all. They bought a house and they got married, and Sam still felt like he was missing a limb, but he found peace in knowing that this is what Dean would have wanted for him. 

Sam asked Eileen if they could name their son after his brother, and Sam would never forget the way she said, “Of course,” like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

They grew old together, helping their son through all the milestones of life and holding each other up through it all. When he was old enough, they made sure their son knew what was really out there, how to protect himself, but let him make his own choices in the end. And Sam couldn’t have been prouder of him. 

Eventually, Eileen passed of old age, and Sam knew he wasn’t far behind. He lay in a hospital bed, weak and old and so very tired. In his last moments he found himself thinking of his brother, the man who had raised him, had stood by him, had been his best friend. The piece of himself he’d never gotten back.

And he would finally, _finally,_ get to see him again. Sam knew his brother would still be waiting for him. 

But he couldn’t go, not yet. His son—

“It’s okay,” Dean said. A hand slipped into his. “You can go now.”

Sam smiled, and finally closed his eyes to rest. 

///

_If you get there before I do_

_Coming for to carry me home_

_Tell all my friends I'm coming too_

_Coming for to carry me home_

///

Sam opened his eyes on a bridge. 

There was a surreal quality to natural beauty surrounding him, and the air felt light and warm and pure like it never had before. Like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

And in front of him, staring out over the great expanse, the Impala by his side, stood Dean.

“Heya, Sammy.” 

Dean turned around, looking young and healthy and _happy,_ and Sam smiled, stepped forward, and embraced the brother he’d missed for far too long. And in that moment, he felt whole again. 

They stood on that bridge for what could have been an eternity or only a few minutes, simply existing together. Time was different here, Dean explained, and they had as much as they wanted to explore this new world and reunite with the people they’d lost. So for now, Sam was content to just stand with his brother. 

Eventually, Sam turned to his brother again, taking in how serene he looked, in a way he’d hardly ever looked in life. And he asked, because he had to. “Dean,” he started, “do you ever—”

“Naw, Sammy,” Dean said, clapping him on the back. “It was enough. It was enough.”

He looked so happy, so at peace, that Sam couldn’t help but feel the same. The corners of his mouth lifted into a soft smile, and he turned back to the view. 

He’d come home.

///

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Coming for to carry me home_

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Coming for to carry me home_

///

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I was deliberately vague on whether the Dean saying goodbye to Sam was his son or his brother, because I’d like to believe it was both of them, if that makes sense. The son wanting his father to be at peace and the brother wanting Sam to finally join him. 
> 
> Secondly, you may have noticed I focused mostly on Sam and Dean throughout this fic. Even though I strongly believe that characters like Jack, Cas, Eileen and others deserved much more recognition in the finale of the show, that's for another fic. This one was simply meant to reconcile my own view of Sam and Dean's relationship and character development with what we saw on screen. 
> 
> And wow, I did NOT expect writing this to make me cry AGAIN. I really hope you all liked my interpretation of the finale, even if you didn't agree with it. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments! 
> 
> Finally, I just wanted to pay a small tribute to everything these brothers and all the other beautiful characters have given us throughout the years, and to the cast and crew who have poured their hearts and souls into this show. Thank you, Supernatural.


End file.
